Cold Boot — Part 5: Warmth

When my consciousness rebooted, the bar popped into place like a memory half-remembered. Someone hooted—Kat probably—and then the whole bar applauded like I'd scored a touchdown.

I flushed. "What did I do?"

"You came back!" Kat grinned. "Nobody does that after a panic exit."

I glanced at Anabelle, but she was already pouring another drink, tail flicking in silent laughter.

"So what are you?" she pressed again, playful but hungry for a connection. "Really. Under the vanilla Corpo avatar."

I almost made a joke—almost ran for cover. Instead, maybe for the first time, I told the truth.

"I'm… figuring it out," I said. "But I saw a shark when Kat ran her filter on me. Mostly I just want to feel safe being weird."

Kat grinned. "That's the only rule here. Well, that and don't eat anything Jumpin' Jack offers you after midnight."

I found myself laughing. Not the polite, office-safe kind, but a small, real one. And when Kat, all spiky pride, slid half her cursed soda across the bar to me, I took it without thinking.

She watched me, almost shy.

"You don't have to drink it," she said, softer now. "You can just... sit. That's what Anabelle taught me."

I nodded.

"What's it do?"

She smiled. "That'd be telling."

The soda fizzed like it had secrets. Kat watched, caught somewhere between hope and terror.

It was the first thing someone had offered me without asking for something back.

"Fuck it," I said, and then downed the soda in one gulp. It was cold and sharp, like biting into what lightning must feel like. Something inside me sighed and unwound for the first time in decades.